Bonfire On Board
by StarIV
Summary: Set 7 years after Treasure Planet. A woman named Bonnie wheels and deals her way aboard Captain Silver's ship, bound for destinations unknown. But does she know what she's really getting into?
1. Prologue

Foreword:

This version of John Silver, and the name "Benbow", are not mine. They belong to Disney and Ron Clements. Original characters/names belong to Robert Louis Stevenson. All other characters, names and places, however, belong to me unless otherwise stated.

Flame if you like; I'll just ignore you.

Enjoy the story!

:-:

Possibly because half the crew were still drunk, or possibly because the white-wigged captain had given up trying to control the celebrations of the sober half, Bonnie Wheeler had no trouble sneaking off the three-masted Navy schooner the moment it docked. She pulled her father's long black coat tight around her and trotted away from the ship whose holds, empty decks and air ducts been her home for the past three months. Better, though, than what she had left behind when she stowed away on the R.L.S._ Ambrosia_.

She swept her long hair out of her green eyes and hopped as she walked, getting a view of the port town in front of her over the heads of the sailors cramming the boardwalk. Vaguely she remembered the Opeth spaceport for its prodigious size and the less-than-respectable set of sailors that infested it. Shabby storefronts, brothels and barking vendors drew her eyes away from the groans and crashes of ships docking and setting off. She looked for one inn in particular, a wooden panel above its door painted with a red raven and a foaming mug of ale. The drawstring shirt and threadbare cotton pants under her big coat had grown loose while she hid on the_ Ambrosia. _No faces in the mosh-pit of the boardwalk looked familiar to her; few were of her own species. She moved quickly and economically; she held her head up and spied the Red Raven.

A different quality of noise buzzed in her ears as the door to the bar swung creakily shut. It matched the low, smoky yellow light. The patrons, mostly grizzled space dogs hunkered down around their tankards, didn't bother turning to look at her. She sucked into her lungs the tang of woodsmoke and beer, and soon she was pleasantly awash in it. The wonderfully human face of the owner, a stout, red-faced matron, stirred Bonnie's memory. She smiled.

"I'm not sure if you remember me, but I'm Constance Wheeler, Prisca and Iscariot's daughter? With the Wheeler Interstellar Surveying team? We stopped here for a couple of weeks a while back."

No light flickered on in the woman's hooded eyes; only a wary shadow.

"Remember? I was the pancake girl?"

Then a broken, toothless grin split the woman's face. "Yes! Bless me 'eart! Ye came in 'ere every morn beggin' fer loganberry pancakes! I din't reco'nize yer name– I thought it was Bonnie."

"That's what everybody calls me, yeah." Bonnie let out the anxious breath she was holding.

"Well, Miz Bonnie, where's the rest o' yer crew?"

Bonnie opened her mouth, then closed it. "I... decided to strike off on my own. Got tired of it."

The matron blinked. "Yer a bit too young t'be strikin' off on yer own, dearie."

"I'm not so very young," Bonnie said, drawing herself up to her full height.

"So what brings ye 'round to my neck o' the woods?"

"I'd like to see if I can get a bit of work. I'm really good in the kitchen. I cooked the meals for the surveying team."

A good-natured cackle rose above the hum of male voices. "An' it jus' so happens we're hirin' cooks. When can ye start, dearie?"

"Right now." The grin took up her whole face and made her green eyes flash.

:-:

The growling voice of their captain, deep and dangerous, full of restrained rage, froze their blood and shook their bones.

"Ye think ye can betray yer cap'n, an' ye betray yer own crewmates. Remember this lesson, lads."

Captain John Silver stood with a snarl on his thick lips, towering over his bo'sun and his second mate. The smaller men's rapiers and shirts were flecked with blood. The bo'sun whimpered as he tugged his sword out of the helmsman's ribs and turned toward his next victim, gagged and bound to the starboard railing. He paused and felt his captain's red laser eye right between his shoulderblades.

"Don' stop now, Blaize me lad. Ye 'ad no qualms about killin' me. If ye have the stones fer that, surely killin' a swabbie's nothin' to ye."

Silver's voice dropped like lead from his mouth. Blood puddled at his feet. The _Benbow _drank it slowly, and moaned to taste the mutiny that soured it. Blaize convulsed and the boy screamed. Silver's body surged with bitter victory.

He had been mutinied upon only once in his life. But that betrayal had cost him his leg, his arm, his eye, his ship and his treasure. It would not happen again. He clicked the pistol into place on his great metal arm and pointed it at Blaize's scaled back. The shifty reptilian eyes flicked back at Silver, terror lighting them up.

"Cap'n, don't kill me, please." Fear had taken the air from Blaize's lungs. The weak, breathy hiss barely reached Silver's ears above the sound of the sails straining against the stellar wind.

A heavy hand descended upon Silver's left shoulder. He glanced up at his hulking first mate, the only man on the ship he could trust. Leonard stood a head and a half taller than Silver, his face wide and flat, the gorilla-like nose set in a hairy, squinched face with glittering black eyes overshadowed by heavily-furred eyebrows. The huge batlike ears were tilted back.

"Cap'n, we should keep at least two alive. You and I can't pilot this ship into Opeth by ourselves."

Blaize and Jester the second mate gazed up at their savior, then at their condemner. Silver narrowed his eyes, shining the laser full in Leonard's face.

"Mr. L–Leo's right, Cap'n. Ye two're strong men and capable, but there's on'y so much two pair o' hands can do," Jester stuttered.

The little wheel that replaced Silver's right ear whirred and clicked; the blood-red beam faded to an easy yellow and disappeared. The savage snarl dropped from his face, but when he reached out to Blaize with his natural hand, the slender Sithrasian nearly bent double with terror. Silver hoisted him into the air by the front of his dirty jerkin and brought the squirming snakelike man close to his ursine face.

"I'll keep yer useless carcass alive, Blaizey, but if I find anythin' whatsoever out o' place between here 'n Opeth, ye'll be danglin' from the crossbeam by yer own innards. Clear?"

"As a b-b-b-bell, C-c-cap'n."


	2. The Annoying Cook

Disclaimer: John Silver is not mine. He belongs to Disney, Ron Clements and Robert Louis Stevenson. Everybody else is mine, though.

Chapter summary: Silver meets an irritating young cook who, for some reason, wants to join his crew.

Another disclaimer: There are swear words in this chapter and oblique references to "adult themes". Which is why I rated it the way I did. It will only get worse from this point on.

Flame if you like; I'll just ignore you.

Enjoy!

:—:

A pretty young waitress with brilliant green eyes approached him, smiling wearily.

"Order up quick, sir, kitchen's closing in ten minutes."

Her musical voice carried a hard edge that belied her lithe figure, ivory skin, and her red-gold hair bound messily at the base of her neck. For a moment, Silver regretted finding this girl as a waitress instead of on the street corner.

"I'll just have a mug o' yer house ale and a rack o' Aldebison ribs."

"Comin' up." She tucked his order into the front of her faded green bodice. Silver watched her march away, wisps of her hair flowing midway down her back.

She did not return with his food; a thin tired-looking young man brought it to him instead, stumbling under the vast tray that held a full rack of ribs, almost four feet long.

Silver did not bother to thank him or tip him, but he didn't stay long enough to receive either. He skittered away from Silver like a frightened colt; he'd probably heard stories about the old captain. Silver pulled a section of ribs from the rack and unceremoniously tore into it.

It was delicious. The meat was so tender it fell off the bone; the spices exploded in his mouth with just the right amount of heat and flavor, but did not overwhelm the sweet musky taste of the meat itself. He found himself savoring this meal, eating slowly and with relish, instead of wolfing it down like the hasty, tasteless ship-made meals to which he'd been accustomed. The tired young man came back with his ale.

"Hey, laddie, give me compliments to th' cook," he said around a mouthful of ribmeat. "Tell him these are the best damn ribs in the galaxy."

The young man bowed in acceptance of the compliment, his red-rimmed eyes wide and fearful. "I'll make sure to tell her, s-sir," he stammered, and trotted off.

Silver was only halfway through the massive curl of ribmeat when the bartender barked his last call. The grizzly captain ordered another pitcher of ale, and this time it was the woman in the green dress who brought it to him.

"So I hear you like the ribs," she said, smiling broadly.

Silver nodded, swallowed. "Bes' meal I've had in months. I told the young laddie t'give me compliments to the shinin' gem of a cook ye have here."

"Oh, he told me."

Silver paused with a section of rib halfway to his mouth. "You? Ye're the cook?"

"Yessir. And thanks for the compliment. It does my tired heart good to know I've made one soul happy for a while."

He blinked, brought one corner of his mouth up in an incredulous smile. "But ye're jus' a slip of a girl."

"A slip called Bonnie," she said, offering her hand. His brow furrowed slightly. Strangers who weren't put off by Silver's fearsome reputation were balked by the sight of Silver himself. His ancestry was ursine, surfacing in his bulbous nose, bulky frame, powerful hands topped with claws, bearlike strength, and a shotgun temper which made him all the more dreadful. But that was only half of him. His right leg, arm and eye were built of metal, of tubes and gears that were wired into his nerves, that whirred and clicked and moved as if they were of his flesh.

He dropped the segment of rib he was holding, wiped his fingers on his shirt and reached out with his metal hand. It positively swallowed hers, but she shook it firmly.

"Me name's Silver. Cap'n Silver."

And there was the fear. But only a flash of it, like a flicker of flame in her eyes, gone as it came. "Long John Silver?" she asked, her voice lower, softer.

"Aye, the very one."

She smiled again, hesitantly. Silver could almost see the gears in her mind working. "It's... it's an honor, sir– er, Captain."

Honor typically wasn't the emotion Silver's grizzled and craggy visage inspired in those he met. He hiked an eyebrow high.

"I've heard a few stories about you. They say you're the greatest pirate captain of all."

"They call me 'great'?"

"Well... they didn't use that word specifically. They used 'fearsome' and 'dangerous' and 'oh-dear-god-not-him', but any man who has the wits to enjoy a well-made rack of ribs can't be all that bad."

He chuckled. "How do ye know I ain't got a slew o' men hidin' outside fer me signal to come in an' murder ye all an' set this place afire?"

The girl's eyes widened and she hitched a breath. "Well... I don't."

"Then best not t'assume wid types like me, lass." Silver rose, his mechanical knee insistently reminding him that it needed attention. He absently tossed a few coins on the table as payment for the meal, his mind already several blocks down the boardwalk at Madame Miarissy's.

"Wait!" The young cook called. Silver rolled his eyes, already reaching back into his pocket. The money he'd put on the table probably wasn't enough.

"All right, lass, how much more do I-"

"I'm not assuming."

"Ye what?"

"I'm not assuming what type you are, Captain Silver. I know how to read people."

"I don't-"

"You're not a bad man; I can tell."

"Thank ye, lass."

She smiled. It warmed her, lit her up. "I know it's a long shot, but if you need a cook on your ship or if you just need more help, I could... I've been on ships. I'm not an expert, but I mostly know my way around."

His attention recaptured, he turned to fully face her and crossed his arms over his chest. He knew he cut an imposing figure, towering over the girl, but she did not bend.

"What makes ye think I'd want ye on board me ship? Ye're just a girl."

Her smile thinned out and twisted wryly. She crossed her own arms, which gave Silver a nice view of her well-proportioned cleavage. "I'm stronger and more capable than I look, and I'll thank you to stop calling me a girl. I'm twenty-six."

"And I'm the bloody queen."

The girl bowed low. "My lady."

Silver waved his metal hand as if to swat away her verbal barb like a mosquito. "Lassie, I ain't got time fer ye. I'm flattered that ye want t'be part of me crew, but I've just finished assemblin' one. I've got all the men I need."

"But do you have a cook?"

"Don't need one."

"Then who'll do the cooking? The bo'sun? The cabinboy? You? Or will you all just settle for eating hardtack and gruel for the rest of your voyage? A tight ship's not a happy ship, Captain, a well-fed one is."

"Now don't you go tellin' me how to run me ship-"

"I can also be a good crewman." She pulled up her left sleeve and flexed her biceps. A good-sized cord of muscle bunched there. "I know how to rig sails, how to operate a jib and how to steer a ship. I'm also good with blades. Not so good with guns, but I can learn. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me." She held his gaze a moment longer, as if in challenge. Silver, well-accustomed to challenges and with fighting instincts honed to a deadly point, leaned down closer to the girl, lowering his voice.

"Ye best stay here an' shut up, or I may jus' have t'come back wid all that fire an' murder I mentioned earlier."

Some of the fire went out of her then; her body tightened and imperceptibly drew in. Silver's mechanical eye, constantly scanning the world around him, detected a quickened pulse and sweat beginning on her skin. He turned and strode out, giving her no chance to react.

Halfway to Miarissy's, Silver's knee completely gave out. There was no pain since there were no nerves, but only a feeble hiss and a mechanical groan as the hydraulics which turned his knee and gave power to everything below it suddenly went limp. Silver cursed softly; there was one part of him, certainly not limp, that cried for his attention almost as insistently as his broken and swinging leg. But it would have to wait. He would have a difficult time getting a willing woman even without a limp; his appearance, age and size worked against him.

He gave a subtle mental command and his mechanical hand rotated smoothly into a compartment on the inside of his arm. From another compartment, a telescoping walkingstick, of the same indestructible metal as his hand, whirred into place on his wrist. He extended the walkingstick with another preconscious _blink_, and turned left down a dingy, cramped alley, away from Miarissy's, cursing the walls and the dirt as he walked.

"Whaddayew wa–oh, welcome, welcome, friend!" The owner of the body shop dropped his ancient laser pulser as he realized a cyborg had walked through his front door. There was at least one at every port, one body shop owned by a cyborg. Silver preferred these. Cyborgs were not as common as dirt, but less common than gold coins on the ground. Common as fool's gold, he thought. The brotherhood of cyborgs was a battered one, an old one, a wise, mean one, but tight. Tight enough for this stranger to blast Silver with a thousand-watt smile. He offered his own metal hand, less well-made and rusty, to Silver, who took it in a grip so tight it made the metal squeal, but the shop owner's smile widened a few watts.

"Yessir, yessir, I can tell it's not that fine piece o' craftsmanship that's troublin' you, squire." The shop owner admired Silver's hand.

Silver only nodded.

"If I were to bet the farm, which of course I wouldn't because I haven't got one, y' see, I'd wager t'was that wobbly leg that's in need of my 'umble services."

"Me knee, t'be exact. Th' hinge itself's been givin' me trouble for a while, but th' hydraulics finally kicked th' bucket t'day."

"Hydraulics? Shit-in-a-bucket! Hydraulics!" The man nearly vaulted over the countertop to get a look at the complicated system of levers, gears and pumps that ran Silver's right leg. Silver let him crouch there for a while, muttering uncomprehensible syllables around more exclamations of "Hydraulics!"

"I know th' parts I need. It's a fifteen-and-one-eighth-inch wh-"

"Hah, parts!" The owner flung himself upright with such violence that he almost flipped over. Standing beside him, Silver dwarfed the scrawny man, whose only cybernetic part was his right hand. A dirty, coarse carpet of hair coated the rest of the man's body where it wasn't covered by a pair of tattered trousers. His face was vaguely porcine, but his movements were jumpy, almost frenetic. "_Parts!_" He yelled again, his voice jumping up several octaves into a squeal. "Screw parts! When I'm through wif you, squire, you'll be outta 'ere wid the damn finest new system you've ever clapped eyes on! Real cheap! Real real cheap!"

"Thank ye, but I only need me parts. I'm not int'rested in a long to-do. Got places to go."

"I bet you do, squire, I bet you do. But you ain't seen me work, squire. They don't calls me Lightnin' Parry fer nothin', squire. I promise on me mother's grave," Parry laid his fleshly hand– three thick fingers topped with tiny hooves– over his heart, "I'll make it worth yore while, squire."

Miarissy never closed up shop, so far as he had known her, and Silver had more than enough money for it; a haul meant for his whole mutinous crew, now dead, had been split between just Leonard and himself. Besides, if Parry did not deliver, Silver could just hold him at cannon-point and take what he needed for free.

"All right, Lightnin' Parry. Let's see yer magic."

Parry blinded Silver with his finest grin and led the sea captain into the back of his shop like a child pulling his father into a candy store.

Silver could have hopped clear across the port for the superb quality of his new hydraulics, and could have bought Parry a new hand himself for his workmanship. But, only half an hour after Parry had pulled Silver into his work area, the old captain settled for walking briskly out of the body shop, having tipped Parry almost generously. He glanced down at the gleaming new titanium and smiled as it threw a spear of buttery moonlight into his eyes.

"An' damned if I've felt better in me life," Silver said to himself. The only thing that could make this evening better, he mused as he turned in the direction of Madame Miarissy's run-down old house, could be a good lay from a good woman.

His first reaction upon seeing the cook from the restaurant standing in his path was not surprise, but more of a resigned acceptance. She had thrown a long black coat over her dress and was nearly swallowed in it. Her eyes gathered the moonlight, turned it violently green, and spun it out to him.

"Captain Silver, sir? Have you given my offer more thought?"

He would not let her spoil his good mood. "No, lass, I haven't, and I don't plan to. So ye best go back where ye came from. I got places t'go an' things t'do."

"What can I do to convince you, Captain?" There was no pleading in her voice. It was the tone of someone casually asking the time. Silver prepared to say "Nothing," but the girl began speaking anyway, gesticulating with arms and hands completely encased by the overlong, flapping sleeves of her coat.

"Cooking's my speciality, of course, but I know a great deal about medicinal herbs and plants. I know which ones to use for what sickness, and I can make sure that your crew, in addition to being very well-fed, will be the healthiest crew this side of Pasadiro Four. I know some about native animals as well, which ones are easy to hunt and which ones will kill you. I know you probably won't be spending much time on land, probably none of it on frontier planets, but just in case..."

"Lassie," he interrupted her. "Another time, p'raps, I would hear yer story. But not now, not 'ere. I'm done wid ye."

The sea captain breezed past her, leaving her standing in the middle of the moonlit and emptying boardwalk. He expected her to call out and rush after him, but he heard neither her footsteps or her sweetly rough voice.


End file.
